


the awful edges

by avoidfilledwithcelluloid



Category: Re-Animator (1985)
Genre: M/M, Manipulation, Trans Male Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-24
Updated: 2015-04-24
Packaged: 2018-03-25 11:30:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,440
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3808753
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/avoidfilledwithcelluloid/pseuds/avoidfilledwithcelluloid
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Herbert has small hands that are thick palmed with fingers that spindle out in three directions. Most of Dan’s fourth year in medical school has been spent watching those hands put organs back in bodies, covered with viscera and latex. He sometimes thinks about how those hands touched Meg and how his own hands touched her: that maybe some wisp of her tissue is still clinging to the ridges of his fingerprints. Right now Herbert’s hands are clean although his fingernails are bitten down and jagged. Dan notices these things.</p><p>“You are always in my bed Dan,” Herbert says to his hands, “and yet you never try to kiss me. Why do you think that is?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	the awful edges

**Author's Note:**

> hi hello hey this is just like pure sexy whatever between some fucked up babely babes. hope u enjoy weird bdsm undertones and dan cain eating herbert west out. as always, this is written just for you. please enjoy.

Midday draws lines of soft orange daylight across Herbert’s bed. Part of Dan realizes he should get up to move into his own fucking bed but Herbert’s room is closer. And he doesn’t complain if Dan sleeps there, just shoves whatever pile of books and loose leaf notes that have collected on the other side of the bed keeping him company. The space that the junk once occupied always smells dusty.

He wakes up to Herbert’s hand around his bicep. The other man is out cold lying on his stomach face smashed into the pillow. This is not the first time that this has happened.

Dan shrugs Herbert’s hand off grimacing at the grumbling that comes from Herbert pulling his hand back up against his own chest. Rolling over he gets up off the mattress so that his feet are planted flat against the hardwood floor. The house is cold this time of year and he wishes he kept slippers in Herbert’s room since it is right above the doorway. The thought feels invasive: a mollusk that doesn’t belong in the back of his brain. He’s spent so much time making concessions at some point the wish to just ease his way into the life of Herbert West’s bitch becomes a natural inclination.

When he moves to stand there is a hand that falls on his back: a hot little palm against the thin fabric of his undershirt. Herbert is staring at him with his eyes round and blurred. He gestures at the nightstand.

“Dan,” he says, “Hand me my glasses.” Dan picks them up by the spindly temples and lays them into Herbert’s open palm. Once he puts them on his eyes retain their largeness, their clear cut outlines. He watches Dan with eyes that hurt to look at: dark and full of stolen light.

“You are always sleeping in here Dan,” he continues, sitting up against the headboard. Dan is never going to understand why Herbert bought a headboard when he’s never even remotely indicated he’s going to buy a bed frame. He’s just lying with his thin mattress between him and the ground with a piece of wood propped behind the top of his bed, “Have you thought about going to your own room?”

“Herbert,” Dan says and then stops. Herbert is not looking at him instead is focusing on his hands. Herbert has small hands that are thick palmed with fingers that spindle out in three directions. Most of Dan’s fourth year in medical school has been spent watching those hands put organs back in bodies, covered with viscera and latex. He sometimes thinks about how those hands touched Meg and how his own hands touched her: that maybe some wisp of her tissue is still clinging to the ridges of his fingerprints. Right now Herbert’s hands are clean although his fingernails are bitten down and jagged. Dan notices these things.

“You are always in my bed Dan,” Herbert says to his hands, “and yet you never try to kiss me. Why do you think that is?”

Herbert’s lips are so fucking dry that when Dan kisses him the pressure splits them and then an ounce, a quart, a gallon of Herbert West’s blood is in Dan’s mouth washing the skin of his teeth red.  Dan kisses hard with years of regret and hands that are sick of holding rotting limbs sunk into Herbert’s hips that shove him down onto the bed spread. They are both such disasters Dan wonders how anyone ever looked at them and saw bright futures.

“You aren’t doing it right,” Herbert says into the hollow of Dan’s mouth, his tongue hitting Dan’s as he talks, “You’re still dressed.”

“So’re you,” Dan says but its muffled by his own movements to get up, straddling Herbert’s hips as he shucks off his button up to throw it on the floor. He reaches down then with his thumb on his jean button but is stop by firm grasp on his wrist. Herbert looks at him with a cool smile.

“The pants stay on,” he says pushing Dan’s hand away from his waistband, “I would prefer if this stayed a relatively clean procedure.”

“It’s not a procedure Herbert,” Dan says but he’s already leaning down over Herbert to kiss him again. His back curves into a sunset over the other man’s body and the tapping feeling of Herbert’s thin fingers down his spine provides grounding, solidness. He’s so afraid of disappearing.

Herbert moans into the flesh of Dan’s cheek with his teeth grazing it sharply. Dan wonders what it would feel like if Herbert just bit down, ripped a chunk of his face off and ate it. The blood that would gush down his neck and body while Herbert sat back with a red ring mouth full of Dan’s fat and sinew would feel so cold that Dan could shiver at the imagined sensation. The hardening of his dick feels like a betrayal but god, he wants to be eaten alive. Then maybe he would feel something for once that wasn’t mired in a dream he can’t wake up from. He crawls a hand up the small hardness of Hebert’s stomach up to grab his tie and the tremors he feels are beautiful. His sweat mixes with Herbert’s: their faces mashed together like two pieces of clay not meant to match.

One, two, three and then more until all the buttons on Herbert’s dress shirt are undone and his heaving chest is exposed to the dim lighting of his desk lamp. His tie is still around his neck and when Dan runs his hand down Herbert’s side he can count the ribs that his fingers bump over. He can feel Herbert doing the same thing to his chest with fingers spread and touching. Always touching like Herbert needs the feeling of Dan beneath his fingers just to remind him that one person is around.

There are red swiping scars under Herbert’s pectorals and Dan traces them with one finger, feels the way Herbert’s stomach gets tense. He doesn’t have to look up to know he’s being watched and bends down, mouthing reverently at the scars where they fade into pinking skin. His tongue curves up the raised skin with only the shaky breathing of Herbert as background noise. Only once he glances up and sees the sweat raised on Herbert’s brow while Dan puts his mouth over a nipple to press down his tongue against it. A hand clutches suddenly in his hair.

“Daniel,” Herbert gasps out with his pink mouth open and Dan doesn’t think he’s ever heard Herbert sound so much like a human than with the wet edges of pleasure surrounding his voice, “Daniel please.”

“What do you want Herbert?” Dan runs his thumb across the scars.

“You know why I have those,” Herbert says quietly and for a moment Dan imagines the answer isn’t what he thinks it is. But there is no way. Herbert West doesn’t work in unpredictability.

“I asked what you wanted,” he says, lips brushing the skin of Hebert’s stomach, “Isn’t this what you wanted?”

“Dan,” Herbert’s voice betrays the dangerous game he’s playing, the lines he and Dan are drawing haphazardly around themselves. Dan feels monstrously hot; the way Herbert’s fingers drag painfully into his scalp is making bright lights drill into the backs of his eyes. Even if he knows, even if he realizes that this feeling only belongs to him, that the passion in his gut isn’t matched in Herbert’s the ever caressing touch of the other man’s hands is proof that he is enough, “Dan. I want you to take off my pants.”

Hovering his hands over Hebert’s waistband, Dan pops the buttons and, with slow deliberate tug, he pulls the zipper down. His breath comes out in heavy rushes.

Apparently Herbert West doesn’t wear underwear.

He lowers his head, aware that now he’s completely supplicated to Herbert whose hand hasn’t moved from its place on the crown of Dan’s head. Using his thumbs Dan spreads the labia majora, breathes in and can taste the damp of Herbert’s sex on his tongue. Because it is there, large and he cannot stop himself he kisses Herbert’s clit and the hand in his hair tightens.

“Good,” Herbert assures him from his place above Dan, “You are doing very well Dan.”

The praise sparks a part of Dan’s brain he wishes would fall out of his head but it pushes him forward into mouthing at the labia minora as Herbert gives him orders on how to eat him out through a wheezy blissed out voice. Incredible how someone can still sound firm while their voice is high with the feeling of someone’s mouth on them. The hand in his hair moves, clutches the back of Dan’s neck and urges him further forward until he cannot breathe without tasting Herbert fully. Herbert’s other hand comes up, grabs at the side of Dan’s head and he’s making a noise that urges Dan closer. On either side of his head he can feel the pressure of Herbert’s thighs touching the tips of his ears. His hand comes up to find Herbert’s other hand and entwines their hands. He likes the way he can feel the fleshy palm of the other man against his own.

He’s got his tongue lapping at the vaginal entrance, can feel the wet of Herbert on his tongue. How time passes he doesn’t know. At some point, with only the precursor of Herbert whispering “Dan”, his vagina spasms around Dan’s mouth. It is as if the entire core of the other man is shuttering and Dan is merely a part of it, nothing between him and the pulse of Herbert West against his lips.

When he pulls back his mouth is red and shining with Herbert’s orgasm written like a love letter across his face. His dick is painfully hard but he can’t bring himself to do anything about it. Something makes him stop, remember that his focus is on the man before him with color high on his cheeks and his glasses a skew. Herbert, pants still undone, reaches forward and runs a thumb across the cut of Dan’s jaw where it is wet with his own slick. He rests the thumb on Dan’s bottom lip making it pull out a bit and then slides it off, puts it to his own mouth.

“Good work Dan,” he says and curls a hand around the back of Dan’s neck, “You are so good. A good man.”

“Hm,” Dan leans forward to rest his head on Herbert’s shoulder, can feel Herbert’s tie making a dent across his forehead. Herbert’s fingers are brushing against the fringe of his hair cold but solid. Dan focuses on the soft movement against his scalp, trying to make his mind go from his dick to the way Herbert breathes quickly. With the hand not on Dan’s neck Herbert reaches down and rests, one finger just barely brushing the fine hair above, on the fly of Dan’s jeans.

“You deserve this,” Herbert says, and unbuttons Dan’s jeans, pulls the zipper down and runs a finger along the outward curve of his dick against his underwear, “You deserve this, don’t you Dan?”

Dan nods as Herbert takes him out of his underwear, holds the base of his penis with his palm feeling bizarrely cool against it. He expected the feeling to be more slippery, expected Herbert to have sweaty palms but he isn’t entirely surprised. Herbert starts to move his hand, slow at first as he is whispering in Dan’s ear.

“I want you to say it Dan,” and he pauses with his thumb on the tip, “Say that you deserve this.”

Dan gives out a choked off moan and replies,

“I deserve this.”

Herbert rubs the pre-come collecting on the tip and moves again, this time faster. It hurts but only just. Dan makes noises into the fabric of Herbert’s shoulder unwilling to be loud but wanting to at least signal that this is good. He likes this. Herbert’s mouth presses against the skin above Dan’s ear mumbling indistinct praises. The spark in Dan’s brain, the one he wishes he could drown out, loves the sound of Herbert telling him how good he is, how Herbert is so lucky to have him.

He’ll never hear I love you again but the sweetness embedded in “You are such a good boy” is just enough to make Dan clutch at Herbert’s upper arms.

He comes with a jerk of his hips, the feeling almost yanked out of him by Herbert grinding the heel of his hand against his dick and he blinks, unaware that he’d squeezed his eyes shut.  Herbert tucks him back into his underwear, does up the zipper and button of his pants and guides Dan down until they are laying curved against each other. He can feel every vibration of Herbert’s body and wonders if his own shakes the way the other man’s does.

“Dan,” Herbert says and Dan looks up from where he’s buried himself in Herbert’s neck, “Dan you know you can’t tell anyone.”

“About?”

“About,” Herbert gestures to his undone pants, “this.”

The thought takes a moment to process but once it does Dan looks straight into Herbert’s eyes and nods.

“Not on my life,” he says and then, “Your lip. It’s split.”

“Oh right,” Herbert touches his bottom lip gingerly and his finger comes back with a sliver of blood along the pad. He looks at it and then, putting the finger up to Dan’s face, “Lick it.”

Oh if only there was hesitation between Herbert telling him to do so and Dan grabbing Herbert’s wrist, licking the length of his finger to taste the sharp of his blood. Something changes in Herbert’s eyes, a sort of humming darkness in them that doesn’t match the mania usually set in him. He takes his hand back and uses the other one to pulls Dan into another kiss. The kiss is breathless, smacking sounds amidst the creak of the bed as Herbert clambers his way over and onto Dan’s chest. He feels like a blur against Dan and the two of them are blending, no edges where the other begins and ends. Herbert puts both hands on Dan’s shoulders and only pauses in his ministrations to whisper in Dan’s ear,

“Very good Dan.”

He closes his eyes instead of looking into Herbert’s. Through them he can see the peachy tones of the daylight from the window and then the darkness of Herbert leaning over him, blocking out the sun.

**Author's Note:**

> do u like the color pink? maybe u like text posts abt me melting into a puddle over x files? then follow me at my [tumblr](http://avoidfilledwithcelluloid.tumblr.com/).


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